


The Secret Agent and the Super Soldier

by steverogersandpeggycarter



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve and Peggy In Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steverogersandpeggycarter/pseuds/steverogersandpeggycarter
Summary: One evening in 1949, in the midst of the craziness of her life in the SSR, Peggy Carter discovers Steve Rogers on her doorstep.  A post-Endgame story, featuring domestic Steve and Peggy, the SSR, Peggy's friends, and perhaps a flamingo or two.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	The Secret Agent and the Super Soldier

It had been a long day. Peggy had spent her morning sorting through old files in the storage room of the SSR, looking for information on assorted suspects and not finding any. She had ended up crying over the photo of Steve Rogers in the Project Rebirth file, although she had sworn the last time someone walked in on her doing it that she would stop taking that photo out at work. She had then spent most of the afternoon arguing with Jack Thompson, currently the chief of the SSR’s New York branch, about the best way to track down a bunch of millionaires who were funding the building of a weapon more dangerous than the atomic bomb. Jack preferred to curry favor with a lot of important people and see whether any of them would let information slip. Peggy thought that was a waste of time and was only designed to get Jack friends in high places. She thought it would do more good to look for places where such a dangerous weapon could be constructed.

Having left Jack to his own dubious judgment, Peggy headed back towards the house that she and Angie Martinelli rented from Howard Stark. Nearly three years ago, he had offered that she and Angie could stay there since he was the one who got them kicked out of the Griffith. The two girls insisted on paying rent—Peggy was already so beholden to Howard Stark she couldn’t bear the idea of him paying for her housing too—and it was nice to have such a large and comfortable place to live. It would have been wonderful for entertaining, if Peggy ever entertained. 

As it was, the house stayed mostly empty. Peggy was kept busy at the office, and as an SSR agent with a number of enemies she was cautious about making too many friends. She didn’t want to put more people in danger than was necessary. And although Angie was more social than Peggy as a general rule, she was so busy with auditions and callbacks and roles in plays and her job at the automat that she had hardly been home lately except to sleep. The only usual visitors to the house were Edwin and Ana Jarvis, Howard Stark’s butler and his wife, and Howard himself. Peggy trusted them all implicitly, even though Howard drove her wild with his womanizing and dangerous inventions. On occasion, they had all risked their lives for each other.

On the way home, Peggy devoutly wished she were going to spend a quiet evening with a book. As it was, Angie wanted her to see a 7 PM performance of her new show—she had a bit part in a musical and was incredibly excited about it—and Peggy would just have time to change and have a bit of tea and toast before heading over to the theater. 

Arriving home, Peggy flung her jacket and purse on a chair near the entryway and went straight upstairs. The clothes she had worn to work all day wouldn’t quite do for seeing Angie’s show (even though it was an off-Broadway production and Peggy’s ticket was a complimentary one); she wanted something a little nicer. The only clean dress that was nicer was a red one with an A-line skirt and a flat collar. Peggy put it on, refreshed her makeup, and went downstairs to put on the tea kettle.

She had made her tea and burned two pieces of toast in Howard Stark’s not-yet-patented toaster when the doorbell rang. Who could it possibly be at this hour? Peggy went to the door, teacup in hand. Her other hand was ready to grab her gun from underneath the entry table if necessary.

Peggy opened the door slowly. A tall, blond man stood on the porch. The golden evening light shone on his hair. Peggy froze, the teacup slipping from her fingers and crashing to the floor unnoticed. It couldn’t be. The man looked exactly like Steve Rogers. And the expression on his face—mingled awe, adoration, and longing—was an expression she’d seen on Steve’s face once before, the one time she had kissed him.

“Peggy,” the man breathed, and his voice was Steve’s voice.

Peggy had not mourned Steve Rogers for four years to be taken in by the first lookalike to appear at her door. With a swift intake of breath, she grabbed her gun off the entry table and leveled it at him. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t look too surprised at the gun, and he didn’t step back. His blue eyes were trusting. If he was somebody sent to impersonate Steve, he was doing an awfully good job. “Peggy, it’s me—Steve,” he said. “Don’t shoot—I haven’t got my shield.”

It was so exactly like him. Every nerve and muscle in Peggy’s body ached to throw herself into his arms, to be held safely against his heart, and she made a desperate effort to steel herself against it. “Steve is dead,” she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “This is a trick. Who sent you here?”

He shook his head. “It’s really me,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late. Couldn’t call my ride.”

Steve had said that to her after he rescued the men of the 107th from Hydra. How would an impostor know that? On the other hand, Steve had said that in the middle of a crowd of people. Somebody could have remembered it.

“Tell me something else,” Peggy said. “Something else only Steve would know.” The world was spinning around her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the man’s face. 

“You came to talk to me at Azzano, when I was still in that USO show,” he said. “You said I was made for more than being a lab rat or a dancing monkey.”

Peggy remembered that rainy day and her conversation with Steve as he sat drawing. Shortly after that, Steve had gone off with her and Howard to rescue Bucky Barnes and the rest of the 107th.

“What did Howard ask me on that plane flight?” she asked, trying to sound challenging but only managing to sound shaky.

The man’s ears were getting red. “He asked you if you wanted to stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.”

Steve’s ears had always gotten red like that when he was embarrassed. Of course, Howard could have told someone that story, but it was unlikely it would have made its way to Peggy’s enemies. 

“What’s the Howling Commandos password?”

“Eagle. Dugan could never remember it.”

What were the chances that Peggy’s enemies would have gotten information from Howard _and_ learned the secret password of the Howling Commandos? The gun in Peggy’s hand was unsteady, and it wasn’t pointed at the man on her doorstep anymore.

“I missed our dance,” he said. “The Stork Club, eight o’clock on the dot. I’m so sorry.” His voice was low and gentle, and his eyes were suspiciously moist.

Peggy’s breath caught in her throat. She had never told anyone what Steve said to her in that final radio message, even though she had been grilled by higher-ups who were desperate to figure out the whole story about Steve’s plane crash. Finally Colonel Phillips had made them stop questioning her and let her go to grieve in peace.

If he answered one more thing, she’d believe it was him. “Tell me what happened on that ride in the Hydra car,” Peggy said, a desperate hope rising in her chest.

His ears burned redder than before, and the tenderness of his gaze made Peggy’s heart skip a beat. “You kissed me,” he said. “You said, ‘Go get him.’”

Peggy’s gun clattered to the ground, and she threw herself into Steve’s arms.

Peggy never could have told whether they stood there on the porch for ten seconds or for an hour. She was sobbing with shock and relief, and Steve was crying unashamedly into her hair. His arms were strong and solid around her, and he smelled dusty and sweaty—he must have been traveling—but he was _real_.

Finally Peggy pulled back, her hands on the front of Steve’s shirt, looking up into his face. His eyes were wet, but the joy on his face was radiant.

“Steve,” Peggy said. “You’re alive!” 

He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. “Yes, I’m alive.”

“How did you survive? The plane went down!” 

Steve’s face became serious, and he hesitated before he spoke. “I guess Dr. Erskine’s serum works better than we thought. When the plane went down, I froze, but I didn’t die. The serum kept me alive until the plane was found.”

“You mean you were up there all this time?” Peggy felt herself blanch. “Oh, _Steve_! Howard stopped looking for you—we gave up—and you were up there buried in the ice?” Horrified, she took a step back, away from him. How could she and Howard have been so stupid? They should have guessed the serum could protect him. They should have kept looking. 

“Oh, Peggy, no,” Steve said quickly, catching her hands, pulling her back to him. “You and Howard couldn’t have saved me, even if you had found the plane. He didn’t have the right technology to thaw me out.”

“What?” Peggy blinked at him through rising tears. “Then who did—thaw you out?”

Steve looked at her solemnly. “This is going to be hard to believe,” he said. “I won’t blame you if you can’t believe it.”

What could he mean? Peggy stared at him.

“An organization called SHIELD thawed me out, but when they did, it was the year 2011. I was in that ice for almost seventy years.” 

“Seventy—” What he was saying didn’t compute. “Steve, it’s been _four_ years—did you just say _two thousand eleven_?”

“It’s the truth, Peggy.” There was a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I had to use a time machine to get back here. I’m from the future.”

If anyone else had made a claim like that, Peggy would have laughed. But Steve had always been the world’s worst liar. As he looked at her, his face was completely open and honest. Between the impossibility of time travel and the impossibility of Steve Rogers telling a convincing lie, Peggy’s money was on the second option.

“Howard keeps trying to build a time machine,” Peggy said shakily. “I suppose it doesn’t sound too strange that someone built one in the future.” 

“You believe me?” Steve’s face was incredulous.

“Every word,” Peggy said, her gaze firmly fixed on Steve’s face. She had had faith in him before, when he wanted to run off and rescue his friend Bucky and the 107th from Hydra. No matter how strange his story sounded, she had faith in him now.

Palpable relief showed on Steve’s face. “I might have known you would.”   
“And you came back to me,” Peggy said, almost in a whisper.

Steve smiled. “I still owe you a dance.”

Peggy laughed shakily, wiping her eyes with one hand. “Then you’d better come with me, Captain.” This was all incredible, maybe miraculous, but there was a record player in her living room, and there was no way on earth she was going to miss her dance with Steve again. Catching his hand, she pulled him into the house after her, grabbing up the gun from the porch on the way in. No matter how flustered Peggy was, she didn’t leave loaded guns on her porch.

Still clutching Steve’s hand like a lifeline, Peggy headed for the box of records she kept next to the record player. 

“I still don’t know how to dance,” Steve confessed, from somewhere above Peggy’s head.

“I’ll show you,” Peggy said, suddenly choking up again as she remembered saying that same thing to Steve as his plane went down.

A firm hand grasped her shoulder, and Steve gently turned her to face him. “Peggy, I’m so sorry.”

Peggy buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him as he held her close. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Steve murmured into her hair. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the whole thing if you want, but it’ll take a while.”

“Not before our dance.” With determination, Peggy let go of him and rummaged through the stack of records. “I know just the right one. Something slow.”

Before meeting Steve, Peggy had danced with many men, some of them quite good at dancing. At that time Peggy preferred fast, showy dances: the Charleston, the lindy hop, the jitterbug. She had been surprised when a middle-aged friend of her father’s, a veteran from the First World War, said that slow dances were the best—they gave a fellow a chance to hold his girl. 

Now, rocking slowly from side to side with Steve’s arms around her, Peggy knew her father’s veteran friend had been right. After so long, after so much grief, Steve Rogers finally got to hold his girl. And it was beautiful. 

Her face wet with happy tears, Peggy raised her head to look at him. Her heart leaped at the love shining in his eyes. Smiling, he leaned toward her, and Peggy’s eyes fluttered closed as he captured her lips with his. Steve’s kiss was so sweet, so gentle, that Peggy wasn’t sure she wasn’t in heaven.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The record in the player slowed to a stop, and the room was quiet. Peggy and Steve stood wrapped in each other’s arms.

The clock struck six, loudly, and Peggy suddenly realized that time was still passing in the world and that it was dinnertime. Steve was always starving at mealtimes with his super-soldier metabolism. “Oh!” she said. “You haven’t had any dinner, have you?”

“That’s all right,” Steve said, smiling down at her. 

“No, it’s not all right,” Peggy said, heading towards the kitchen and pulling him after her. She couldn’t stand to let go of him. “You probably haven’t eaten in hours and hours. I know you.”

Steve laughed. “All right, all right! I could eat something.”

Peggy looked wildly around the kitchen. It was surprisingly ill-stocked, even for her kitchen. A plate of cold burnt toast sat on the table where she had left it before answering the door. 

“Blast!” Peggy said. “There’s nothing good around here to eat. I should have gone shopping.” There was nothing in the cupboard but a box of Cheerios—Peggy hated Cheerios, but Angie had bought them after hearing them advertised on the Lone Ranger radio show. There was milk, but no bread besides the burnt toast. Peggy also had one jar of olives and two cans of beans in the broom closet. There was no meat. The only fresh vegetable was a bag of raw carrots. It was ridiculous that so fancy a kitchen as as Howard Stark’s would have so little food in it. Peggy was a terrible cook, and both she and Angie usually ate out.

Peggy turned to Steve, an apology in her eyes. “Steve, this is terrible. We could go somewhere and get food—the L & L Automat isn’t too far.”

“We can if you want to,” Steve said. “I don’t mind canned beans and cereal, Peggy, really.”

Peggy laughed. “I suppose it’s better than K-rations,” she said. “No. You just got back from the dead. I am not going to sit here while you eat canned beans and cereal.” 

“I wasn’t actually dead,” Steve protested, as he followed her out to the entryway so she could get her purse.

There was a mirror in the door of the coat closet in the entryway—besides installing a telephone in every room, Howard had installed an abundance of mirrors throughout the house—and Peggy realized with a start how smeared her lipstick was. Turning around, she noticed the same familiar shade smudged on Steve’s mouth. 

“What?” Steve looked blankly at her. 

Peggy started to laugh. “Steve, my lipstick—your face—do you have a handkerchief?” 

Steve’s ears turned nearly as red as the lipstick. “Uh,” he said, rummaging in his pocket and coming up with a handful of loose change and a strange electrical device that looked like one of Howard’s inventions.

“Never mind, I’ve got one,” Peggy said, digging through her purse. “Here it is!” She looked up and met Steve’s eyes fixed on her with a particular intensity.

“Wait,” Steve said, gently taking the handkerchief. “In that case—” He hesitated, and Peggy could feel his gaze on her lips. 

“Well, Captain?” Peggy’s voice was a bit breathless, her heart pounding in her chest.

Steve caught her up in his arms, dipped her backwards, and kissed her, with a sudden boldness that took her breath away. When he set her upright he was blushing all over his face. “I figured, since your lipstick was on my face already—”

Peggy threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

When they pulled apart most of the rest of Peggy’s lipstick had migrated onto Steve’s mouth, and Peggy laughed shakily as she wiped it off. Steve submitted patiently to her ministrations, watching her with eyes glowing with happiness.

“Just give me a moment,” Peggy told him, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse. “And don’t bump me, or it’ll smear.” Looking in the mirror, she reapplied her lipstick, cleaning up the smudged edges with her handkerchief. 

Steve stepped back, carefully giving her space. She could see him over her shoulder in the mirror, looking around at Howard’s extravagant furniture and architecture.

“Peggy,” Steve asked after a moment, “whose house is this? I mean, I know you live here, but—” 

Peggy laughed. “You mean, the SSR can’t possibly pay its agents _this_ much? You’re right. It’s one of Howard’s houses. I know, that sounds bad,” she said, turning around quickly to catch a quizzical expression on Steve’s face, “but it was an apology for getting me kicked out of the Griffith, where I lived before. My friend Angie and I both live here, and pay rent. My goodness! Angie!”

Peggy had forgotten all about Angie and the seven o’clock theatre performance. Well, if there was one person who would understand, Angie would. She was always hoping to set Peggy up with someone. She wouldn’t mind if Peggy missed her show because the man she had thought was killed in the war showed up on her doorstep. 

“What is it?” Steve asked. 

“I was going to go see Angie onstage in ‘Brigadoon,’” Peggy said. “But she won’t mind if I miss it. I’ve got a good reason.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, his brow furrowed. “I don’t want to make you miss it—you wanted to see it, right?”

Peggy shook her head. “There’s only one person I’m interested in seeing tonight,” she said, enjoying the way a smile crept over Steve’s face. “Captain, will you take me to dinner?”

Hand in hand, they walked down the street. 

“I keep wanting to pinch myself,” Peggy said. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find this is all a dream.”

Steve squeezed her hand gently. “Does that help?”

“Yes. Do it again.” 

They had walked two more blocks when Steve came to a sudden halt. “Peg, I just remembered—all the money I have is from the 2000s. They won’t let me buy anything with it.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be ridiculous, Steve. I’m buying you dinner. You came all the way from the future to show up at my door, and the least I can do is feed you.”

“In that case,” Steve said, looking down at her seriously, “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“You already have, Captain,” Peggy said, her face dimpling in a smile. “You’re alive. You came back.”

“I don’t have much with me,” Steve confessed, as they continued on their way. “My money doesn’t work, they wouldn’t accept my ID, and I don’t even have a change of clothes.”

A box she had just seen that afternoon in the SSR storage room came across Peggy’s memory. “Steve!” she exclaimed. “I know where some of your things are!”

“Really?” 

“Yes. They’re in the Project Rebirth file box at the SSR. Phillips brought it to me to file after—well, after your plane went down,” Peggy said, struggling suddenly as she remembered all the times she’d looked in that box and cried as she thought of Steve.

Steve’s grip tightened on her hand. “I’m sorry, Peggy,” he said softly.

Peggy wiped her eyes with her free hand. “I missed you.”

Steve’s voice was rough with emotion. “I missed you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The L & L Automat wasn’t too crowded—most people had had their dinner already. Peggy found herself and Steve a corner booth, out of the way, and they got sandwiches and pie out of the self-serve hatches.

Sitting opposite Steve, Peggy was overwhelmed by all the things they hadn’t talked about—the things that had happened to her since he had left and all the things that must have happened to him in the future. It looked like the future had been difficult—he looked older than she had remembered him, and although his face was lit up with happiness as he looked at her, the dark circles under his eyes showed how tired he must be.

He was looking back at her reflectively, his sandwich sitting on his plate with only one bite taken out of it. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

Peggy felt herself blushing as she smiled, which was ridiculous, because goodness knows he’d called her beautiful before. “Thank you for not calling me a dame this time,” she said.

Steve flushed. “I was afraid you were gonna remember that.”

“Of course I remember it. It was our first real conversation.”

Steve looked pleased and embarrassed. “Yeah, I must have made quite an impression—telling you about all the times I got beat up, and then calling you a dame.” 

“It was a lot better than the impression Hodge made,” Peggy said, laughing.

Steve chuckled. “You made quite an impression on _him_ with that right hook.”

Peggy still could hardly believe that Steve was real and sitting across from her, reminiscing about the war, as though they had just seen each other the week before.

“Steve,” she said, “there’s so much to ask and tell you, and I don’t know where to start!”

Steve’s face grew serious, and he leaned forward and took her hand, holding it gently. “Anything you want,” he said. “Ask me anything. Tell me anything. Or I can ask you.”

Peggy thought she already knew the answer to the first question that came into her head, but she had to ask it. “You said you came here with a time machine. Do you have to go back? Can you—are you staying?”

For a terrible second she imagined Steve going back to the future, alive but forever separated from her. But the look on Steve’s face brought relief—there was no way he would look at her with that much hope in his eyes if he had to leave.

“The future will be all right without me,” Steve said. “Peggy, it’s been a long time. A lot of things have changed. And I want you to know I don’t expect anything—I promised you a dance, and I came to keep that promise.”

Steve always did this, trying to make sure everyone else was happy, putting his own wants last. Peggy would have protested, but she couldn’t come up with the words, so she kept listening, her eyes fixed intently on his.

“I guess I don’t know how to say this,” Steve said, his eyes apologetic. “Wait a second.” With the hand that wasn’t holding Peggy’s, he pulled something out of his pocket and laid it on the table.

It was a battered compass, one Peggy remembered well from the war. She drew a deep breath as Steve opened the lid and turned it towards her. Her own face looked back at her.

“Everywhere I went, I always wanted to come back to you,” Steve said quietly. “During the war—in the future—you kept me going.”

Steve’s eyes had a faraway look, as if he were remembering something from a long time ago. The thought of him still carrying her picture, more than seventy years in the future, was almost more than Peggy could bear. “Oh, Steve,” she said.

“I told myself, I gotta move on. But I couldn’t.” Steve looked at her again, his gaze tender, searching. “Peggy, I love you. I waited too long and didn’t tell you, and I’m not going to do it again. I want to marry you—if you want me.”

“Oh, Steve, _yes_ ,” Peggy said, and found herself crying.

Before she knew it Steve had moved to her side of the booth, his arm around her shoulders, his hand on her cheek, gently wiping away her tears. “Peggy,” he breathed.

Peggy looked up at him, her heart thumping wildly, and read a world of love and promises in his blue eyes. 

“Captain,” she said shakily, “if you don’t mind taking the rest of this food to go, I want you to take me outside and kiss me.”

Not taking his eyes off her, Steve picked up a menu from the table. “I can do one better than that,” he said, and he held the menu up to hide their faces as he kissed her.


End file.
